so many things are over. the heatwave, featuring ominous cloud-cover spilling down from canada’s forest fires; my second Giardia Offensive — with any luck, this time the enemy is well and truly vanquished and i can live my life both sedative and nausea free; ben’s visit. which was wonderful.
yesterday evening he lana and i meandered through fave local bookstore politics and prose like it was a museum, lingering in the poetry section to point out pieces to each other. one of the ones that struck me, that always does, was frank o’hara’s why i’m not a painter. we’d gone with the vague intention of celebrating my birthday in advance as neither of thems that i love so much will be here next friday to seize the day with me.
the previous evening we went to the first meeting of a discussion group on manifesta and third-wave feminism. looking around the circle of earnest, leftist twenty-somethings with excellent shoes, i remembered the first comotion meetings, before we even called ourselves that, and how initially i was impatient because everyone seemed so solicitous and showy-sensitive. that made me smile, and it — and the excellent shoes — gave me hope that this group will advance past the polite stages too.
i met my second boss yesterday when i went to assist documentary filmmaker ms. cantor. easy labor: mostly manual stuff, and i got to listen to npr the entire time. the film she’s working on, copenhagen 1943, is narrated by garisson keillor and edited by the danish fellow who edited dancer in the dark. i was quite impressed.
but i will return this evening to a now doubly-empty house, with only the memories, and sheba, to keep me warm. and cake. it’s cake day at the office. cake helps.